


honey (the sweeter the sun)

by giraffingallday



Category: The Goldfinch (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different Second Meeting, Cheating, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Talk of Suicide, accidentally married, but technically theo is gonna cheat on kitsey, garbage boys, its like different first meeting but boreo, kinda its all sorta mixed together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:54:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21924760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giraffingallday/pseuds/giraffingallday
Summary: “I’m sorry Mr. Decker, but it’s about your marriage license. The request you sent in was declined… are you aware you are already legally married?”Theo’s mind blanks, “I’m what?” He blinks hard, shakes his head, “That’s not possible.”“Yes, sir, uh, to a Mr. Boris Pavli- Pavlik- sorry, I’m not quite getting that last name, it’s slavic?”-Or, Boris steals something different of Theo's before he leaves Vegas.
Relationships: Theodore Decker/Boris Pavlikovsky
Comments: 33
Kudos: 308





	1. ch. 1

**Author's Note:**

> im planning like 3-4 chapters for this fic! its not going to be long but i was talking to my gf about how i wanted us to have a second wedding when we get married so we can have a vegas wedding and i thought of how theo is a black out drunk and... y'know
> 
> please ignore the obvious fact that a legal slip up like marrying to minor children would never happen

After the life Theodore Decker led, happiness wasn’t high on his priority list; it fell short to _fed_ and _clothed_ and _safe_. But he was all of those things now, he had a good career ahead of him at Hobie’s side, he had a savings account (with savings!), he wears expensive clothes that slide over his skin like teal walls and old paintings, he’s engaged to marry the perfect girl. He isn’t happy, sure, but does that matter? Should it, really, when he only came back to the absence of it because he had everything he needed?

He doesn’t dwell on it, doesn’t allow himself, if only for Kitsey’s sake. He socializes at parties and smiles through hours of hello’s and eats tiny portions at expensive dinners.

(Sometimes, he’ll bite into a piece of ribeye and imagine it’s overdone and straight from a frying pan, only so delicious because there wasn’t a penny paid for it. He tries not to think about it.)

Everyone around him tells him that he should be happy, so he supposes that maybe he should, maybe he really is so broken that it’s not an option anymore. Maybe the closest he’ll ever get to happy is dazed away from his head in a storage unit, Nevada sun in his brain and a bundle of newspaper clutched to his chest. 

“Theo?” He starts, Kitsey’s tone tells him it isn’t the first time she’s said it and he blinks at her, “ _Honey_ , I know this stuff is boring, but it has to be done.” Her voice is that of a mother feigning patience, smiling too wide at him but still looking beautiful despite it. Oh how he wished he could love her.

“Sorry, I got distracted thinking about work,” The lie rolls off his tongue, second nature at this point, “These are nice.” He points at a table setting before looking; it’s a Wedgwood design, a little ugly actually, in his opinion.

“That’s an excellent choice, sir.” The saleswoman agrees eagerly; Theo thinks they can both agree they’d been there too long.

Kitsey pouts, Theo wants to scream, “I don’t know, Wedgwood? It’s a little overdone, don’t you think?”

The saleswoman, desperate to earn her commission, shakes her head, “I would argue that it’s classic, it gives people the impression that you understand your place in the world - amongst the timeless.” Theo can hear the subtext clear as day, _it’s how things are done_ , and he gets a sour taste in his mouth, because there isn’t another damn reason he’s there in that moment.

His fiancé doesn’t seem to agree because the pitch works like a charm and they fill out an order form. She rambling with the woman while Theo pays, commenting on dress shapes, and Theo doesn’t feel anything when her eyes light up with excitement. He thinks, more than a little bitterly, that the Wedgwood plates suit them perfectly.

“Hi, Andrew, this is kind of a bad time.” He’d been in the middle of pitching an ancient wardrobe to a collector when his lawyer had called, left a voicemail, and called three more times before he’d sheepishly excused himself to pick up.

“I’m sorry Mr. Decker, but it’s about your marriage license.” The words sent a cement ball through his stomach. Jesus _Christ_ , he just wanted the whole thing done with, he wanted to move on from wedding planning and replanning and just get on with life, “The request you sent in was declined… Mr. Decker, are you aware you are already legally married?”

His tone is more than a little accusatory and Theo’s mind blanks, “I’m what?” He blinks hard, shakes his head, “That’s not possible.”

Andrew clears his throat uncomfortably and Theo curses when he hears the bell of the front door jiggle quietly, _great, lost a customer and I’m married, who the fuck did I marry?_ “Yes, sir, uh, to a Mr. Boris Pavli- Pavlik- sorry, I’m not quite getting that last name, it’s slavic?” 

It didn’t matter how he pronounced his last name, Theo’s head was swimming. How, and when? They were kids, was it even possible? “I haven’t seen him in eight years.” He says, because it’s the only thing he can think to say. Well, that, and, “What can we do about that?”

“Eight years?” Andrew sounds appropriately surprised, doing the math in his head, “We could bring it to a judge, argue that it was a legal mistake because you were obviously a minor at the time. But it would take time to investigate how it happened. It would be more than a little while until your marital status could be adjusted.”

Theo thumped his head back where he’d been leaning against the wall of the hallway, eyes squeezed shut tight, “Fuck.” He’d have to tell Kitsey. She’d want to know who Boris was, she’d worry he was _gay_ , this was so fucking annoying.

“It could be easier if we filed for divorce. As long as you think the other party would be willing?”

“I’ll kick his ass if he isn’t.” Theo laughed, shaking his head. Of course. Eight years of _what if_ , eight years of _maybe he’s still coming_ , and he was going to find Boris again so he could divorce him. Because all this time they’d been _married_ in the eyes of the federal government. That really was just fucking like him.

“I’ll try to make this as painless as possible for you, Mr. Decker.” They exchange pleasantries and hang up, Theo wishes he still had access to vast expanses of desert so he could go out far enough to feel like the only person in the world and scream.

His head feels like a Tilt-a-Wirl for the rest of his shift; he butchers two pitches and loses three customers and as soon as he’s done he’s out of the shop like lightning, hailing a cab and giving the address for the storage facility he patrons. The sight of the place pumps adrenaline through his veins, a pavlovian reaction to what he knows is coming, and he tips the guy too much while he fumbles out of the car, rapidly patting his pockets to dig up the key.

His hands shake while he fumbles open the old mint tin - he’d never told anyone this, but it’s the same one he’s had since Vegas, swiped by Boris for the actual mints before given to Theo - and crushes the pills. He knows after the first line that he should’ve spent more time on it because it scratches his sinuses and burns before the white-hot drip hits and he groans audibly, relief flooding his body as he sags against cold cement.

His blood buzzes, both alive and settled for the first time all day, and he lets himself think, with intent, about Boris. Thinking about Boris isn’t something he’s often able to get away from, especially when he’s on his own, but it’s been a long time since he’s searched out the place in his heart where he resides. Dark hair and tissue-white skin flood his brain and he gasps from it and chokes on the air, desperate for the mirage to materialize in front of him and tell him, _shh Potter, I am here now, is no more reason to worry._ He wonders what Boris is up to now, who he became, if he would still hold Theo through his nightmares if they met now. He thinks, half committed to the thought, that he would like to keep married to Boris, if only because he no longer had access to the darker worries, the ones that saw Boris shot or stabbed somewhere, left to die with no one to notice his absence.

He does another line, then another, and another, until he starts to feel like hazy Vegas nights and can sink into his own head. He doesn’t realize he’s passed out until he wakes the next morning into the dark of the closed unit, head pounding and body sore from dehydration and a night of sleeping where he shouldn’t. His phone tells him he has several missed calls from Kitsey - they’d had an appointment with the catering company that morning and he’d missed it - and he groans, pushing the door open and squinting against the light that blinks in from it. His tin is empty when he packs it away and he texts his guy, asking for a time and place to pick up; then he stands, grabs his wallet, and goes in search of the nearest bodega with overpriced bottles of water.

The first place he finds is a run down gas station, the kind of chain that hires shady teens and turns a blind eye when the cigarette counts are off. The kid at the counter is too skinny, hair bleached white and cropped short, and she doesn’t even look up when Theo walks in. He goes to the refrigerators against the far wall and rolls his eyes - $2.59 for a fucking bottle of water? Yeah right.

Out of practice and humming with the thought of it, he stretches his neck casually, twisting it to either side around a faked yawn to check for cameras - none; too easy. He opens the fridge, and quickly stuffs two bottles of water into the pocket inside his heavy wool coat, coughs and carries himself down the rest of the fridges, opening them randomly as if he was truly browsing. After a moment of wasting time he goes up to the register, “Do you guys sell Ben and Jerry’s?” They don’t, he was just at the freezers, but it’s never a bad idea to act like he walked out without buying anything for a reason. The girl shrugs noncommittally, looking for all it’s worth like she did _try_ to avoid rolling her eyes and he presses his lips together in a not-quite smile, seeing himself out.

He rounds the corner and pulls out a bottle, downing it in one go, then calls Kitsey.

“Where the _hell_ have you been.” Her voice is cold as ice and Theo cringes, _for God’s sake, can she not handle a menu confirmation on her own?_

“I’m sorry, I fell asleep in the shop with Hobie, we were up all night looking over a piece he just got in, where are you? I’ll meet you.” He’s standing over the curb now, only half thinking over his lies while he sticks his hand out to wave down a taxi.

“I’m at my apartment.” Something about the way she says it sets dread in his gut, “You should get here as soon as you can.”

The line clicks dead and he wonders absently if he’s done something bad enough to lead her to call things off. He thinks a little harder about why he doesn’t care.

The walk up to Kitsey’s place is always familiar; he can still remember when it was new and exciting, when they could barely let go of each other long enough to open the door. He knows every line of the building now, the old stain by the heat vent in the lobby, the railing on the west staircase that can’t hold much weight before creaking worryingly, even the hint of expensive hardwood where thick carpeting is loose down on level two. Sometimes, when they come here, he’ll look at anything but her.

That’s why the boot print catches his eye. It sits, dirty and wet, right where the carpet to Kitsey’s floor starts, and it follows all the way up to her door. Theo isn’t sure Kitsey has ever met anyone in her life who would walk into a place like this in boots like that.

But he has.

He knows exactly what’s happening before she opens the door, before he hears throaty laughter from the other room and she walks away without greeting, he _knows_.

_Shit, shit, shit. Fuck._

He wonders idly while he slowly walks the line to her living room, whether or not Boris hearing from him was a positive thing, if maybe the scar he pried open was a little too old. He thought, _why do I only ever think of myself?_ and then he didn’t think of anything at all, because Boris was there, squished on her powder pink loveseat between two of her friends, merrily chatting despite the constant daggers they sent. He was a stain on the paleness of the room, black black hair and clothes like an oil spill, the light around him drowning in it. Theo couldn’t move, rooted to the spot the second he stepped through the threshold; then Boris turns to look at him and the room stops.

It’s like instant magic, the second their eyes meet everything about him seems to soften, the lines of his coat aren’t as harsh, his hair looks plush not wild, and his wide, boisterous grin quiets into a giddy smile, “Potter.”

At that one word all the air leaves him in a rush and he sways, “Boris.”

And then Boris is hugging him, on him like a light, and Kitsey is scoffing somewhere in the room but Theo can’t think to do anything but hug back, fingers curled tightly into heavy black wool. It’s a first cigarette in the morning kind of dizziness, he thinks at this point Boris is probably holding the both of them up, and he thinks that if he ever collapsed around Kitsey like this she’d let him fall. (It isn’t a fair thought, they’ve never been fragile like that with each other, so he wouldn’t know.)

Boris pulls away, hands still hanging onto Theo’s shoulders even when his own drop back to his side, his face reads anger under the relief and he says, “We need to talk. Without fiancé.”

Kitsey mutters, _For God’s sake._ and Theo casts a helpless glance in her direction, tries to make it read, _I’m sorry, I’ll fix this._ before he nods to Boris, “Yes, definitely.”

“You can talk here, I know _I’m_ interested in why you’re married. To a _man._ ” Kitsey snaps, and Theo shakes himself out of his funk to remember that they’re _engaged_ and he disappeared the night before, and she found out he was married via his apparent _secret husband_. He steps away from Boris.

“It’s not a big deal.” It is, it is, because nothing is small when he and Boris are spun together, “We did a lot of crazy shit when we were kids, Boris was my best friend.” Em, she’d been sitting beside Boris on the couch, cleared her throat with a raise of her eyebrows before tapping her nose. Theo couldn’t be helped for the eyeroll, “We just have to divorce, it’ll be done before the wedding and we can get our marriage license, it’ll be easy, Kit.” He hopes the nickname lessens the blow, it doesn’t seem to.

“No, no. Not easy.” Boris catches his attention again, looking every bit the hurt partner that was meant to be Kitsey’s role, “What if I do not want to have divorce?” It’s then that Theo notices Boris’ left hand, a plan silver band twists around his ring finger, understated and screaming at him.

“What?” He can hardly recognize the sound of his own voice, _why is Boris wearing a wedding ring?_

“I’ve never even _heard_ of you.” If Theo had to guess from her voice, he’d say Kitsey just noticed the ring too, “What right do you have to be married to him? Theo isn’t even _gay_.” Kitsey’s butting up closer now, not violent - she wasn’t raised in those circles - but Boris doesn’t know that, and his stands toe to toe with her.

“What right do _I-_?” Boris starts, voice infuriated and pressing close enough that Kitsey takes a step back. He pauses then, looking over at Theo with sad eyes, “Please, Potter, let us talk, only me and you.”

“Okay, yes, c’mon.” He tilts his head towards the door and Boris starts out, he looks to Kitsey with pleading eyes, trying to ignore the fact that this all happened in front of her _friends_ , “Let me fix this, I’ll call you after I talk to him.”

All he gets is an eye roll and a shrug, “Fine, go.”

So he does.


	2. ch.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy!! I think I’m actually gonna finish this fic!! I think there’ll only be one more chapter, two if it gets long! Enjoy!!

The sky is overcast and the muted sun hangs on him while he walks side by side with Boris, neither of them willing to cross the brush of air between them. It’s startling enough in itself to be walking with Boris, the world around them very much changed while Theo feels just the same, fourteen and trying to kill himself if only because he needed to know that Boris will always pull him back. He wonders if Boris has changed.

He doesn’t realize Boris is leading them somewhere until he’s stopped with a hand on his elbow, the silver ring catching a stray tuff of wool while he pulls Theo inside a Starbucks. They’d passed several of them on the way here, there was a Starbucks on every corner in New York, but he doesn’t have to ask why this one was chosen when someone behind the counter shouts his name and waves, asking Boris something in Spanish - Theo’s always meant to learn it, honest, but he didn’t take it in university, and no one can really commit to Duolingo, let’s be real - and Boris answers back in equal enthusiasm, the language sounding strange with his accent, “He will bring us coffee, sit.” He nods towards a table in the far corner, the place is crowded, lunch rush line filled with assistants that were meant to be back at the office fifteen minutes ago but know better than to show up empty handed, but it’s the most private option available so he follows Boris to the back and sits in a tiny wire chair.

“Why are you wearing that ring?” He can’t wait anymore. Things with Boris raise too much tension and he doesn’t have the patience for it he had as a kid, everything seems to overwhelm him lately, he wants answers.

“You do not get to start.” After they sat, Boris had looked stony, now it reads clear in his voice - betrayal, “You - I tried -” He takes a breath and winds his fingers through his hair, still curly and black as always but cropped shorter now, “Why did you make it so hard for me to find you? I told you I’d follow.”

Theo feels ashamed, because it’s true; what breadcrumbs did he leave? “I didn’t mean to.”

“I  _ looked _ , Potter! Please believe me. I did not want to abandon you.” He sits back when two steaming to-go cups are placed in front of them, Theo picks up his so he can seep some of the warmth into his palms.

He’s tired, the night before left him with a coke hangover and he didn’t have anything to bump off the edge; and Boris is apologizing to  _ him _ , like he was the one ripping up their separate lives to reveal where they still connected, “Boris, when did we get married?”

Boris smiles sadly, looks at his drink but doesn’t touch it, and shrugs vaguely, “One night, you are a black out drunk, Theo.” It might be the first time he’s ever said Theo’s name, and it sounds like  _ Teo _ and he wants to cry because he doesn’t want anyone else ever saying his name again.

“And you don’t want a divorce.” He doesn’t have to ask that, Boris had made it perfectly clear. 

He watches Boris sag against his chair, arms folded over his chest, “You make it hard for me to find you, suddenly means we are not married?”

“Boris,” He starts, then stops, because Boris can’t think they  _ meant _ it, couldn’t possibly think they still would, “I’m engaged.”

Boris looks away, petulant, “Is not my problem.”

“ _ Boris _ .”

“What do you want me to say? It’s all I had!” He catches himself before his voice gets too loud, takes a slow sip of his coffee, eyes closed, before he speaks again, “I move to New York, think, is tiny island, I find Potter in desert, how hard can it be? But for such small city they put so _much_ inside, and is so cold, I have to find place to live, way to make money. I meet guys, not so good, but they help me, and I make a _good_ _life_ for myself, _never_ stop looking for you. Then, out of the blue, divorce papers show up. You find me that easy just to say, I don’t want you anymore, Boris. Why should I sign?” He has the look of a wounded animal, feral and afraid, snapping at anything that could be a threat, its alarming to see Boris so off balance.

“I didn’t know.” There’s a million things he could be referring too, all of them muddled down together to a sum of  _ Theo didn’t try hard enough _ and it’s confusing as  _ fuck _ because he never thought that just because he loved Boris, it meant he and Boris were  _ in _ love. He’s not even gay, what the fuck.

He doesn’t expect the look that gets him, sudden realization mixed with hurt and confusion, “You kissed back, when you left, I thought that meant…” He takes in a deep breath, then nods, “You love her?”

Theo knows it’s an admission of defeat, that Boris isn’t looking at him because he’s trying to accept that things aren’t what he’d imagined, it’s weird how his heart twists at the sight and he deflates because he can’t lie to Boris, “I don’t think so, but it’s a smart marriage, a good one.”

Boris pulls a face, “Good marriage? How if you do not love her?”

“It’s more complicated, her family is important, and they like me, and that’s hard for Kitsey because she’s the only girl; getting married would be good for us.” He sips his coffee, ignores the fact that he burns his tongue on it in favor of thinking over how  _ stupid _ it sounds out loud, even if it’s true.

Boris must agree because he snorts and shakes his head, “No divorce.”

“What the fuck? Why are you giving me such a hard time? We haven’t spoken in eight years, I don’t need your permission.” It frustrating, if only because he  _ isn’t _ frustrated with Boris for refusing him, but with the fact that he’ll have to come up with something to tell Kitsey.

“No divorce, you should stay married to someone who loves you.”

God, he knew, like, on some level, that that was Boris’ reasoning, but  _ jesus _ , to hear it out loud is… something else entirely. His head swims, and his palms sweat, and in the back of his mind he asks himself,  _ am _ I gay? But you can’t change Boris’ mind on something once he’s decided, so Theo relents, “Can you at least take off the ring?”

“No.” He closes his left hand into a fist, defensive, and Theo’s curious suddenly, for the story of how he got it, but he puts his hands up, giving up so Boris can relax again. It’s too tense, and they can both feel it, so Boris cuts the tension, “Go out with me tonight, no more talk of marriages, we party like old times, yes?”

“Why not?” What else is there to say? After the past twenty-four hours, he can use a good night.

He calls Kitsey before he parts ways with Boris, they stand close together against the cold brick and share a cigarette while it rings, “Hi.” She still sounds pissed, which sucks because she’s  _ not _ going to like what he has to say.

“Hey, Kit, I’m just leaving, you want me to come over? To talk?” Boris doesn’t look at him while he talks, staring instead into the constant mass of people weaving over the sidewalk, taking long, slow pulls from the smoke between his fingers. Theo, for one, can’t seem to look away.

“So he’s going to sign?” Her voice perks up, happy again, a spoiled girl getting the toy she didn’t really want, but had been told she couldn’t have; and Theo wants to tell her yes  _ so _ badly, but he can’t, even if he fought Boris for it, it would take ages to clear the mess up. The wedding would be postponed, everyone would know - they wouldn’t be perfect anymore.

“Uh, I was thinking I could come over, we could talk everything out.” He’s scrambling, half distracted by the cut of Boris’ jacket collar against his jawline and trying  _ so _ fucking hard to focus. (But Boris loves him. But he just wants to get off the phone. But he’s going to be with Boris again in just a few hours. But Theo doesn’t love her. But  _ Boris loves him _ .) 

Kitsey huffs hard against the speaker of the phone and he cringes, blinking and taking the cigarette from Boris when he realizes it’s being offered, “Theo. Is he signing or not?”

“Well, not.” The line clicks dead and he stands frozen, phone still pressed to his ear, for a moment too long, because Boris looks at him with an inch of concern, “She hung up on me.” He blurts, tucking his phone blindly into his pocket, “I should go see her.”

Boris has the audacity to pout, “She needs to wallow, come with me, Potter, we can get lunch.” He finds himself wanting to go, even if he thinks it’s a few hours too late for lunch - though he really isn’t surprised.

Morality - the fucking bitch - kicks in just in time and he sighs, shaking his head, “I have to, Boris, I’m engaged to her.”

It’s not really a point that can be argued with, so Boris nods reluctantly before he pulls Theo down for a hug, arms like a vice grip around his shoulders, “Do not disappear again, okay?” He urges against Theo’s coat, not a whisper but still carrying the weight of a secret, and he lifts his arms to cling to the back of Boris’ coat like instinct. (He only stops a moment to think what people walking by might think, before he realizes most of them couldn’t possibly understand even if he told them the truth.)

“I won’t.” He starts to pull away but Boris stops him, leaning up to press a ghost of a kiss over his cheekbone. Theo loses his balance for a moment, leaning into Boris’ hold on his arms for only a second, but long enough for him to notice. Long enough that when he steps back and away from Theo the quick wink he sends brings a flush to his cheeks.

He walks into Kitsey’s building only moments later, but it feels worlds away, and he knocks on her door with nothing short of trepidation. He gets no reply so he knocks again, the door opens moments later, chain drawn, to reveal Em, “Really, Theo, married?” She clips, Theo’s never been more intimidated by another person in his life; he rolls his eyes.

“It’s more complicated than that, just let me talk to her.” She stares back at him blankly and he groans, “I’m her fucking fiance, Em, let me in.”

“She’s not here. Went to that bakery she likes.” She gives him a once over and sneers, “Guess we all need our pick me ups.”

So he walks to the hole-in-the-wall bakery Kitsey was enamoured with a few blocks over, feeling stripped bare, and she’s there, talking on the phone with her hands flying, he stops outside, looking casual as best he can while he tries to watch her through the window. He knows he should go in, actually talk to her, but barging in on her phone call won’t do him any good.

She’s still on the phone when she leaves the shop, bag swinging with the way her hands fly while she rants - Theo thinks, she’d been this angry with her brothers before, he had told her, during one of her rants, that she looked terrifyingly beautiful when she was angry. He ducks over quickly to the next store down, pretending to window shop and praying he isn’t caught following her around. She stalks past him and he catches a blip,  _ telling me he’s Theo’s husband. No, he didn’t warn me at all! _ And it makes him burn with shame; so, naturally, he follows her some more.

He figures out at the third store that she’s out shopping to cheer herself up and kill time while she bitches the ear off whoever is on the other end of the phone, and he only has a few hours until he’s agreed to meet Boris, brand new contact in his phone ridding him of any excuse to flake, so he has to decide whether or not he wants to actually approach her. She finally pulls her phone away from her ear, dropping it into her purse while she gazes over a rack of plush cashmere scarves, and he straightens from where he was pretending to browse on the other side of the store, getting ready to pretend he’d been looking for her the whole time when a man catches her by the waist.

She twists around and Theo expects shock, or rage, but instead her face is painted with glee, leaning up to kiss the person she’s greeted. She leans back down and strokes a palm over the man’s cheek - the same way she used to his - her eyes are sad while she looks at him.

He honest to god almost goes over to them, thought process blinded by white-hot rage. She was cheating on him, all this time. Fucking cheating. The man twists and Theo catches his profile and has to hide behind a clothing rack to keep himself from doing something stupid because it’s  _ Tom fucking Cable _ holding Kitsey like she’s his.

He tries to pretend he doesn’t know its relief flooding him because this means they’re over; getting married by some mistake when he was self destructive kid is one thing, but she really doesn’t love him. Not even enough to settle for  _ happy enough _ .

His throat stings with thick betrayal and he swallows around the lump there when he peeks over silky cocktail dresses to see her, head pillowed against Tom’s chest, with an expression of comfort he hasn’t seen on her features since he lowered himself to one knee and asked for her hand. It’s enough to make him stupid, and he straightens up so he can confront them, hands shaking where’s his clenched his fists tight, and then his phone buzzes, a text.

_ Dinner? _

It’s Boris and it leaves him feeling so many things that he turns on his heel and slips out the second entrance, texting back and letting himself smile because if she doesn’t follow the rules, he most certainly doesn’t fucking either.

_ Sure, where? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you liked it (or didn’t!) I would really appreciate feedback it means the world to me!


	3. ch. 3

Boris sends a location in lieu of a name, and Theo thinks that maybe he should’ve asked Boris what he did for a living, because the building he finds himself in front of is dark; old brown brick, heavy curtains drawn in the front windows, a heavy wooden door. Which is inarguably, like, really fucking weird.

He’s trying to decide whether or not he should knock when a hand catches his arm; he turns and Boris is there, smiling at him like he’s something familiar, and it makes him wonder which rules, exactly, he plans to break. “Hey.” He sounds breathless when he says it, chest tightening at the grin it earns him.

“Hey.” The hand stays, curling into a firm grip that slides down to his wrist so Boris can pull Theo’s hand into the crook of his elbow, holding it in place with the gentle press of his palm; he decides quickly that he isn’t going to complain about the ways Boris touches him, not when it sends such a rush of calm over him, “I’m glad you made it, happy to see you, come inside.”

He pulls open the door and Theo is shocked by the place, low lights reflecting off every surface you looked at, a bar at the back of the twenty or so tables that took up the floor, stocked well with heavy bottles and expensive labels. He wishes he’d changed - still wearing the suit from work the day before, Jesus, he looked like shit - because the place is near empty and the few people eating don’t hide the way they stare openly when they enter, “Boris,” He whispers, leaning over to hiss in his ear, “What the motherfuck.”

Boris laughs, way too loud for the well mannered quiet of the room, and shakes his head, “This is not where we eat, I am real member, have card and everything.”

He digs around for his wallet, thrusting the card at Theo and waving to the host as he leads them through the room towards a door against the back wall. The card is Boris’ driver’s license, and Theo doesn’t get the joke but he  _ does _ take a minute to commit the photo to memory, “What?”

Boris takes a ring of keys from his pocket and opens the door, turns to wiggle his eyebrows after he leads them inside, “I am owner! Surprise!”

Theo’s jaw drops, “No shit!” He twists around to look back out at the dining room, it  _ is _ a nice place - inside, at least. The diners gawk at him, one woman leaning over to whisper harshly in her husband’s ear. They aren’t the kind of rich he’s grown to find himself surrounded by - fine pressed, old money types - these were the wild flash of wealth that leaves you in prison or dead, ‘fake it and hope you make it’ kinds, like his father was. It makes him uncomfortable to look too long.

“Come inside, come, is nice restaurant for people who do not want to be bothered.” And yes, that makes sense, he tried to imagine Boris’ place in a world of people who high end dine in a run down building. It makes the corner of his mouth twitch when he realizes how perfectly being a host to them all suited him. Boris was friendly, and outrageous, and no friend of the law; but he wasn’t a bad guy, he didn’t like to hurt people, there was no other way for him to climb to the top.

(There was a part of Theo that knew, the next time he was alone with himself, room dark and sheets soft against his skin, he’d let the concept of Boris, dangerous and powerful, form more cohesively in head, and he wouldn’t blame himself for the reaction it’d cause. He was doing his very best to ignore this part.)

The room Boris brought him into was lit low like the main room was, but not nearly as… sparkly. It was an office, without a doubt, but the large desk was pushed to the wall, space cleared for a table draped in a white tablecloth - further inspection would tell him it was soft linen, still creased from the factory fold, and his heart would stop for a beat when he realized Boris had always loved obnoxious decorating, and had softened the space for  _ him _ , “This is really nice.” He spoke, sounding far away from the room even to himself, fingers tightening their hold on Boris’ elbow; the palm over his knuckles pressed down more solidly in response and it made Theo want to wrap himself up in the feel of Boris’ hands.

“Like it? We eat here, first we cook.” Theo looks at him, and Boris is smiling in a soft sort of way he hasn’t seen since Vegas, and his train of thought derails because  _ oh, we’ll be cooking together again _ .

They don’t go back into the dining room, a second door shows them a fluorescent lit hall for staff movement, and Boris takes him to the kitchen. It’s boiling hot and screaming loud, employees shouting at each other through a rat maze of movement that Boris leads them through so expertly that Theo has to rush to keep from losing his grip on the other’s arm and getting swallowed up by the madness; they end up at a stovetop in the near middle of the room, Theo is not naive enough to think it’s coincidence that the whole room seems to be working around the two of them - space saved for the boss, “What are we making?”

Boris finally detaches their arms, (it leaves Theo cold, he doesn’t expect the reaction, but he can admit to the honesty of it), to disappear back into the kitchen’s chaos, and returns with two steaks packed in styrofoam and cellophane, “Have been trying to make steak like you did since you left, just does not taste the same.”

He could die now, he thinks, because he’s fourteen again, desert heat is making him sweat and Boris at his side with non-stick pan and a pack of steaks for Theo to ruin, and - oh. 

Theo loves him too.

He doesn’t say it, can’t get the words out, can only stare blankly at Boris while he waits for Theo to react; eventually, his face falls, and he drops the steaks on the counter like they’ve insulted him, “You think it’s stupid.”

“No!” The word tears from him fast enough that a passing sous-chef looks looks back at the outburst and he flushes, speaks softer, “No, it’s just, I’ve been trying to make them taste the same too.”

Boris looks at him like he wants to kiss him, like he might, and Theo thinks painfully that he  _ wants _ him to, so badly, but he doesn’t leave him the chance, instead turns to start unwrapping the steaks, “You always surprise me, Potter.” He hears him say, quiet enough that Theo isn’t sure if he was meant to hear.

The cold meat hisses horribly when it hits the pan; greased with oil instead of butter because that was all his dad ever kept in the house back then, no seasonings in sight because teenage boys can’t cook, and the smell of it, mixed with the sweat on the back of his neck and Boris beside him, makes his head swim. 

He needs to resurface, head foggy like he’s sunk to the bottom of a chlorine pool, waiting for Boris to pull him up because he knows he will, so he shakes his head hard, turning to look at Boris, unsurprised to find him already looking back, “So what do you do now? Run restaurants for drug dealers?”

“Not drug dealers!” Boris laughs, voice always a notch higher than any other sound in the room, “Important people unliked by law, they want nice place to go on dates, have meetings, I give them place.”

“Right.” He smiles into the word, it’s so Boris, a life like this. He hates to admit but it’s him too; following the rules all these years, trying to convince everyone else at the table that he should be sitting there too, it’s never felt right. He flips the steaks, pale brown on the cooked side and looking disgusting and thinks,  _ This is what I want. This is who I want. Why did I ever doubt it? _

Boris carries their plates once they’re done, leading Theo in the direction of the office again - he doesn’t say anything when first start walking and Theo jostles a waitress, the way she glowers at him prompting him to grab the back of Boris’ suit jacket with one hand and stay attached until they’re back out into the safety of the hallway. There’s a pair of waiters arguing back there that quickly lower their voices to hushed whispers when they see Boris, and when they finally step back into the office the silence of the space washes over him to give him clarity. The dull light catches on the wedding ring on Boris’ hand while he sets their plates down, both chairs and place settings on the same side going unspoken.

“When did you get it?”

“Restaurant?” Boris sits so Theo sits beside him, they’re close enough for their shoulders to brush but he wishes they were closer, something about being in proximity with Boris making him calm and anxious in equal measure, “Two years ago, just opened second location on other side of city! Good business.”

“No - I mean congratulations, that’s awesome, man - but I meant the ring.” They both look down at it at the word, and he notes that Boris curls his hand shut again, protective of the band.

“Depends.” He shrugs, opens his hand to pull it off and look at it closely, it’s just a plain circle, but his eyes cloud with something while he inspects it, rubbing his thumb over the thin metal to buff out a mark, “I lived with Xandra for a time.”

It’s so far from an answer to his question, and so unexpected, that Theo bursts out in laughter, “What?”

“Yeah! She liked me enough, didn’t have to change schools, was nice. This was my house key.” He wiggles the ring a little, “When I moved to New York I had it made, to feel close to you.”

A hairline crack spreads over Theo’s heart, the relief that Boris didn’t stay under his father’s hand dizzying him; he thought of everything they could’ve had - compares it to everything he got on his own and feels that ever present lump in his throat thicken, it doesn’t come close. He takes a bite of his steak to hide his hands shaking and it tastes like desert sand so he closes his eyes for a moment to take it in, blurts, “In college I took conversational Russian. It made me think of you.”

Boris turns to look at him and his eyes are wide and adoring and he says, “Please, Potter, will you do something for me?”

He almost says  _ anything _ without thinking, because it’s true, instead he says, “What is it?”

“Let me kiss you. One time, then you tell me if you still want to marry her.” His voice is pleading, already leaning in with eyes on Theo’s mouth while he chews; he looks desperate, “Please, I was going to wait, let you have nice night and be happy with me a little while but… please.”

Theo stops in his place, a tableau forming out of the two of them; Theo frozen over a bite of tough meat, Boris, nearly shaking, and leaning close, close, close to him with a wedding ring clutched in his hand. What else can Theo say? “Okay.”

Boris takes in a heavy breath at the permission and slips his ring back on while he leans closer, not touching Theo as their faces near until their lips brush over an exhale. It changes something in the air, and suddenly Boris’ hands on him, cool metal against his cheek and a palm flat to the back of his head, holding them together. Boris kisses like he lives, fully and with all of himself, and Theo can’t do anything more than collapse into the hands offering to hold him up, steak knife clattering against his plate while he twists to wrinkle Boris’ jacket in his fists.

They part, eventually, only enough to breathe, Boris’ hands don’t move, unwilling to let him go, eyes closed and breathing heavily; Theo had never realized how much of Boris’ emotions showed in his eyes until he tried to read his face without their help. He’s not stupid enough to pretend he already knew kissing could feel like that.

“Kitsey’s cheating on me.” Boris’ eyes fly open and Theo sees it then, hope and worry, love floating under it all constantly, “I’m ending things with her.”

“Ending…” Boris’ head picks up, holding Theo’s face tighter so he can search it, “Does that mean…?”

He knows what he’s being asked,  _ does that mean you’re starting things with us? Does that mean I wasn’t foolish to hope? Does that mean you love me?  _ and his face cracks into a smile, goofy and smitten, “Yes.”

Boris laughs, that bright happy sound that he loves (loves!) and it’s Theo this time, that leans in for the kiss.

They eat the steaks - okay, they eat half the steaks, but only because Theo really can’t cook for shit, and hey, they have the rest of their lives to make more - and eventually end up on the floor (Boris’ fault, he’s always been eager) and they’re busy giggling around messy kisses when Boris sits up suddenly (they’re foreheads knock, it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as it should) and grabs Theo’s hands, “Move in with me.”

“What? Boris,” He starts, planning to say,  _ no _ , because it isn’t how things are done, then he smiles, leans in to steal another kiss because he  _ can _ and says, “Okay, yeah, let’s do it.”

(A year down the road Boris buys them tickets first class - get scolded more than once because they can’t stay in their own seats - to fly out to Vegas. It’s the wedding of the decade.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW I can’t believe how fun this was to write, I wanna thank everyone who read this from the start for believing in my updating habits and I wanna thank anyone who’s reading this down the road for reading it at all!! As always, I live on comments and kudos, so please feed me!!

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading and i'd love to hear what you think!!


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